


Hold You Tight

by spiteandmalice



Category: Goodbye Christopher Robin, Paterson (2016)
Genre: Brief mentions of PTSD/horrors of war, Dancing, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M, Poetry, Sharing a Bed, Softness, kylux adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 09:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiteandmalice/pseuds/spiteandmalice
Summary: Paterson meets AA Milne and invites him into his life.





	Hold You Tight

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven’t seen Goodbye Christopher Robin, AA Milne is referred to as Blue by his friends and family. This fic is based on the fictional portrayal of that man from Goodbye CR, not the real author!
> 
> All poetry is stolen from the wonderful Richard Siken, in italics at the end of each scene.

When Laura leaves, Paterson goes back to group counselling at the VA for a while. He got out of the military with skills, lifelong brothers and sisters and his body intact. He saw the enemy through lenses, scopes, video monitors. He feels like a fraud, sitting in a dimly lit hall next to a man with no legs, a woman who trembles when she mentions certain events.

Blue, in contrast to them, looks healthy and whole and laughs about happy memories when he mentions his fellow soldiers. After a few sessions, Paterson realises Blue has seen terrible things, that he was at the front line, smelt the blood and piss and cordite and that the men he jokes about never made it out, that he’s living in his car, showering at the YMCA. So he offers him a place to stay.

Blue sleeps in the living room on the couch, a dented side table as a desk, his battered backpack leaning against it. His only possession besides some clothing is a sleek silver laptop he writes on, bangs the keys hard like it’s a typewriter, then goes outside to furiously chain smoke when the words stop flowing.

Blue has nightmares that his medication can’t touch. Paterson lies in bed listening to him wake, smells the char of toast, hears the clink of cutlery on a plate and the whir of a laptop. He closes his eyes again.

 

_I sleep. I dream. I make up things I would never say. I say them very quietly._

\---

When Paterson gets up Blue is still at his laptop, fingers smashing keys.

He glances up, he looks exhausted but pleased to see Paterson.

“You can sleep in the bed when I’m at work.” Paterson hears himself saying.

Blue’s asleep before Paterson leaves, snores drifting out of the bedroom.

 

_You can sleep now, you said. You can sleep now. You said that. I had a dream where you said that._

\---

When Paterson comes home Blue’s laptop is open on the dining table, and a big band tune is playing, something with a swing to it. Blue is stirring something on the hob, and tapping along with the brass section, spoon hitting the side of the pot with every flare of the trumpets. He looks well-rested and happy.

"I wrote two chapters. We're having spaghetti. Dance with me."

It's strange having someone the same height in his arms, there’s a brief struggle of where their hands should go and Blue drops his head to Paterson’s shoulder and they sway together. It’s nice. Paterson thinks of the last time he danced, with Laura, and it’s not painful for the first time in a while. It’s just a little smudge of sadness, ink running, another page turned over. The sauce begins to bubble and spit and they break apart and Blue smiles and starts to tap the pot again and Paterson smiles back.

 

_The radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night_

_is thinking. It’s thinking of love_

_\---_

They don’t discuss it, but that night Blue slides into the other side of the bed, hair soft and still damp from his shower.

Paterson has today off but he wakes at six am anyway. He stretches his legs, mindful of Blue softly snoring next to him, curled up tightly. He’ll make coffee for them both, maybe see if there’s bacon.

He slides out of bed and as he puts his watch on Blue rolls over into the freed space, sheet drifting off his shoulder as he moves.

The curtains aren’t fully closed and that leaves a slice of pale orange street light in that leaves Blue looking paler than usual, more ethereal and Paterson suddenly wants to reach out, touch his hair, his brow, his lips; to undress him and find where he is ticklish, where he is scarred, where he would moan.

He smooths the sheet over Blue’s exposed shoulder and goes to make breakfast.

 

_but we always win and we never quit,_

_See, we’ve won again,_

_here we are at the place where I get to beg for it where I get to say_

_Please, for just one night, will you lay down next to me_

\---

Weeks pass and Paterson writes, a slow steady trickle of words eroding his new notebook like a river through stone.

Blue either stares at his screen or writes like a man possessed. Paterson hasn’t asked what he’s working on, but he’s seen flashes on the screen, he knows it’s a treatise against war. They’re both proud to have served, but they know that sometimes wars are unjust, that lives are numbers, targets, goals- not people.

Tonight, Blue is glaring at his screen, fingers hovering over the keys but nothing is happening so he storms outside, chain smokes, and paces up and down the pavement in front of the house.

Paterson sees the top of his head pass by, over and over and the flares of his lighter in the dark and thinks of Ohio Blue Tip matches and Laura and finds no sadness there anymore.

When Blue comes back inside he slams his laptop shut and sits very, very still with his eyes closed. He’s shaking.

Paterson sits next to him, slowly, carefully.

Blue gropes for his hand, eyes still scrunched shut.

Paterson curls his fingers around Blue’s and they sit there, breathing together.

 

_A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river_

_but then he’s still left_

_with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away_

_but then he’s still left with his hands_

\---

He holds Blue that night, he wants to whisper into his hair that it will be okay and kiss him until his tense mouth is slack and wide with pleasure and longing. He says nothing.

He holds him tighter and pulls the sheet above their heads. Blue tells him about the war, about his parents, about his nightmares. He cries. He laughs.

Afterwards, the room is loud in its silence. Paterson doesn’t let go.

They sleep.

 

_All night I stretched my arms across_

_him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing_

_with all my skin and bone Please keep him safe._

_Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be_

_like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed_

_to pieces._

\---

Paterson’s contemplating getting out of bed, thinking about cutting the lawn on what seems to be a normal, boring Sunday morning when Blue presses his mouth to his.

The kiss is glorious and sharp and hard and then Blue’s mouth opens against his and it’s perfect and soft and wet and he _needs-_

It's awkward at first, sheet snaked between them, around Blue’s left leg, and Paterson's t-shirt is caught under his elbow, half on, half off. Paterson laughs against Blue’s mouth, tries to free himself. Blue pulls away and grins and it's all teeth and he reaches-

then

then

oh

please

_yes_

please

 

_I try, I do. I try and try. A happy ending?_

_Sure enough — Hello darling, welcome home._

_I’ll call you darling, hold you tight._


End file.
